The Swinging Wedding Band
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: Because making up is hard to do. Circa 1905 Pregnant!Gemily, with Julia to the rescue. [Part of the Common Life AU series. Complete]


A/N: Here's a thank you for the strong and encouraging reactions to my first MM fic! It's a prequel of sorts, taking place in late 1905. Less introspection, more action. This can stand alone, but it would benefit you immensely if you were to read _The View From Where We Are_ before diving in. It could explain some things. Sorry for the sap and fluff in the ending-really, I couldn't help myself! Let me know if you spot any strange anachronisms. I'm not too good at English idioms yet.

Just a side note...I'm not particularly averse to reading or writing Lemily, I just have other preferences. But let's not dwell on that. Who wants to read about Emily's wild hen party in the next piece?

 **The Swinging Wedding Band**

There were several constants in Dr. Emily Grace's universe. The sun rose in the east, the St. Lawrence River flowed into the gulf of the same name, and she was forever doomed to start off her days on the wrong foot.

The previous evening was supposed to have been special. She and her husband were celebrating another monumental case solved due to the diligence of the constabulary. Really, the crucial break in the case had been hers for the taking. As usual, the final detail had been the subtle petechial hemorrhaging in the whites of the eye. This eliminated the possibility that the victim had been brought to his maker by any other method than strangulation. The news had been brought to the attention of the brass, names had been crossed off the blackboard, and by the end of the working day, the culprit was in custody.

Just as she had finished stashing the cadaver of the victim in the morgue's freezer, her autopsy report finally complete, George appeared at her desk. He had made reservations at a charming little French cafe that the Murdochs recommended, and he would be obliged if she would accompany him to dinner that evening.

What complicated her decision was the fact that Emily was enormous with child. Her belly led the way wherever she went, causing quite a few mishaps in her place of work. Time after time, tools clattered to the floor as she jostled the table in passing. And to add to the humiliation, she would have to call her lab assistant to come pick them up for her. She could no longer tie her shoes by herself, nor could she wear any of the lovely new gowns that had been purchased on their honeymoon trip. The corset was relegated to the back of a drawer, and Emily found herself wearing nothing but voluminous blouses and high waisted skirts that could be secured above her stomach. Her back ached, and even a brief walk to the corner store left her out of breath. It was ludicrous. How in the world had centuries of women endured pregnancy before her?

"What's in it for me, Detective?" She found herself asking before she could bite her tongue.

George treated her to one of his famous crooked smiles as he leaned against the doorframe. Really, he was quite dashing in his suit set. After years of seeing her paramour dressed in constable's fatigues, the novelty of his recent promotion had not quite worn off.

Perhaps it was the way he insisted on looking at her, as if she was a preening acolyte of Venus rather than a weary pathologist with a tangled mop of mousy hair. There had never been a doubt that her husband found her beautiful. In fact, he insisted that pregnancy made her even more radiant. _Glowing_ , even. Emily couldn't help but think he was full of it.

He appeared to consider this for a moment before answering. "A foot rub in bed, my lady, and I'll read to you the concept of the novel I've been planning."

Now he was speaking her language. Emily would like whoever had said that romance was dead between married couples to view the living contradiction otherwise. Gathering her coat from the hook, she went to join her spouse.

-0-

Meanwhile, Inspector William Murdoch was very close to leaving the office for the evening. There would always be paperwork to fill out and phone calls to make. The inner civic gears of the city would continue to churn regardless of his desire to have a life outside of the constabulary. He couldn't recall the last time that he had a night to himself, to pore over the countless scientific texts that had been piling up in the corner of the room or tinker with spare mechanical parts in his workshop at home. The countless public appearances he was expected to make, coupled with the demands of his long suffering wife, took up most of William's time. He was a shade under a year on the job, and already he was fatigued of the responsibility. Heaven knew how Thomas Brackenreid once managed this position without going stark raving mad.

The sporadic interruptions of his work were almost too much to handle. Just as he could become absorbed in the details of their latest case, a constable would barge in with a form for him to sign or a suspect for him to interrogate. It seemed that an inspector's work was never done. Only moments before, Constable Higgins had come in with what was possibly the most ridiculous request of the day.

"We could really use your input on this, sir. You putting your two cents in would make more of the lads participate in the pool," Henry explained as he balanced a clipboard and a pencil. Both of his pockets were heavy with loose change.

William had never considered himself a betting man. What the constable was asking him to do was at odds with his faith, and even worse, the very notions of logic themselves.

"The statistical probability of having a boy versus a girl are fifty-fifty, Higgins," he explained, somewhat exasperated to have his work interrupted for the tenth time in the space of an hour.

The young man shrugged. "So they are. You could always up the stakes by placing a bet for twins or triplets. Jackson even threw in a nickel towards the good doctor giving birth to a Martian or a mole-man, as obsessed as George is with the infernal creatures."

By God, how William _wished_ he could forget his detective's obsession with less than rational explanations for the crimes they came across. Rubbing his temples, he acquiesced, "Fine, put me down for a dime on the odds that Dr. Grace will be delivered of a set of twins."

Humming to himself, the constable carefully penciled in his name next to the proper amount of currency. The possibility of the inspector seizing a moment of gracious silence were looking better by the minute.

"And the genders?"

"Does it really matter, Henry?"

The incredulous look on his face indicated that _yes_ , in fact, it really did. William mumbled something about one of each, hoping that the final tidbit of information would be enough to rid his room of all distractions.

Higgins was really more perceptive than given credit for; although most of his attention was diverted elsewhere, he could tell that the inspector was trying to get rid of him. "Thank you, sir. You know, a higher bet would really make things more entertaining. I'll put you down for ten dollars," he said absently as he made tracks towards the door.

"Ten _dollars_?" William repeated dumbly, looking up from his paperwork so fast that he nearly developed whiplash. But it was too late, as the collector of debts had once again taken his seat in the bullpen. "Henry!"

-0-

By the time their _pain de campagne_ had arrived from the kitchen, Emily was famished. Her advanced state of pregnancy did have its perks, namely that she could indulge in whatever she wanted culinarily wise and not feel the least bit guilty. It was all for the benefit of the baby, whatever final condition it would arrive in.

Out of respect for her condition, George had graciously abstained from drinking any French _chardonnay_. She'd insisted that he not hold back from enjoying the things he would normally because of her, but he only shook his head and began to rummage in one of the pockets of his suit.

Emily removed a slice of bread from the basket and proceeded to slather butter on the open end. Taking a rather large bite, she waited for her husband to continue on what she was sure to be another tangent.

The detective produced a folded piece of paper from his jacket, unfolding it in his lap. She could see that the writing surface had been neatly separated into two columns and filled with the kind of immaculate script he could only accomplish when he took his time.

"I've been thinking about names for the baby, dear," he began, as if he was worried she would disapprove.

That was George's way, all irrational fears and foolish flights of fancy. It was charming, if a bit disconcerting. "Have you, now?"

"I have," he confirmed, nervously turning the parchment over in his hands. Sometimes he needed a bit of prompting to continue. Slipping her shoe off with some effort, Emily leaned forward and slid her bare foot up his pant leg.

His blush was immediate and fierce. Certainly after all their time together, she knew how to push his buttons. Emily took some kind of wanton pleasure in teasing her husband in public, especially in restaurants where the only barrier between them and greater Toronto society was a tablecloth. Lowering her voice to what she hoped was a sufficiently seductive level, she said, "Read them to me."

There were William and Thomas for boys, good, hearty names that had a degree of significance to them. She was sure that both the current inspector and the former's widow would appreciate the sentiment. That said, she could tell which gender would be preferred, for the list of names for girls was scores longer and more detailed.

They briefly entertained the idea of naming a daughter after a close friend they both shared, but the desire to continue the novelty of flower names was clearly preferred. Emily remembered their first visit to Newfoundland and the Crabtree home; she had adored the aunts, regardless of their nature to titter like clucking hens or their less than honorable choice of profession. The ladies had made her feel included, something she'd appreciated in the early stages of their new courtship.

The list continued with a variety of other names, ones that were particularly melodic or sweet sounding. By the time she'd emptied the breadbasket by herself, and was very near to flagging down the waiter for replenishment, Emily heard a name that caused her to do a double take.

"What was that, George?" She asked, her tone treacherous.

"Adeline, Marianne, Elizabeth-" He repeated patiently.

"No, before any of those." Her guise was stormy and unpredictable in a way he hadn't seen for a long time.

He knew that he couldn't get away with anything but the truth. It took some effort, but George managed to stammer out, "Edna."

That was it. Throwing down her napkin, Emily pushed back from the table. She meant for her exit to be as volatile and ominous as she felt, but it wound up being somewhat ungainly as she hobbled towards the door in her with one bare foot.

-0-

Waking up the next morning, Emily immediately knew that something was wrong. Her eyes felt clouded and scratchy from the hours of crying she'd done before finally falling asleep. She didn't have to roll over to confirm that there was a notable lack of a body spooned up against her. For the first time since their marriage, she woke up alone in bed.

Fleeing from the restaurant, the only thing she could focus on what the blinding fury building up in her gut. High above, the heavens seemed to pick up on her rage and proceeded to unleash a deluge. She briefly entertained the idea of ducking into an alleyway to seek shelter from the storm, but something within her kept her moving. There were broken syllables called out from some distance behind her; pushing aside the possibility that it could be her husband pursuing her to make amends, Emily chalked it up to the distant rumbling of thunder.

By the time she'd reached the halfway mark between the cafe and their quiet little home in the suburbs, she was soaked to the skin. Thankfully, a cabby on his final circuit of the night noted her condition and offered her a ride. However, due to the woeful conditions of the cobbled streets, heaped aside with potholes and ankle deep puddles, it was long after ten in the evening when the carriage finally pulled up to the house.

Emily thought that she could see her breath hanging in the air. It was late in October, and a frigid chill had swept in from the north. Soon it would be snow for the first time in the season, leaving all of Toronto frozen in position like the tiny wooden people in a child's snow globe. Usually George was up before the sunrise to attend to the fire ahead of the housekeeper, who would arrive shortly after the dawn. His morning routine usually included whipping up a clumsy breakfast for the two of them and helping her dress and fix her hair. Sometimes it irritated her just how much he wanted to do himself-she was only pregnant, after all, _not_ an invalid-but the gesture was comforting. Now, as her due date rapidly approached, she found herself needing the assistance of another more and more.

There was no need to linger at home this morning, for she had a very important visit to make before reporting to work at the morgue. Emily struggled into her stockings and sack-like day dress before gingerly making her way down the stairs.

The blanket that had been folded up at the foot of the couch in the sitting room was enough to let her know that George had slept there. Leaned against the headboard was a slender black umbrella, the only such one that the couple owned. In her haste, she'd left him alone to pay the check and gather their personal affects. How useful that infernal device would have been the night before!

She found her coat and a single shoe by the stove, along with a half empty kettle. Two cups had been laid out, per the detective's routine, and only one had been drained of its contents.

Dr. Grace pulled a stool up to the cabinet and took the empty cup in her hands, examining it as if it would provide her some insight into the current situation. When it became clear to her that that would do no good, she leaned forward and sighed, "Oh, George…"

The night before, she had been angry. No, _furious_. How could he even suggest such a name, after all they'd been through to mend their fractured relationship? He should have known that the mere mention of a former lover would be enough to anger his wife! She was insecure enough as it was, not feeling attractive or charming enough to hold his attention, and the last thing Emily needed was to be a reminder of a woman that, for the briefest period of time, had treated him better than she had.

Now that she'd slept on the matter, Emily wasn't sure who her anger had been more directed at. It was no lie that she'd spent many a moment cursing herself for mistreating one of the kindest men she'd ever come across. Every time he brought her flowers on a rainy day, or took her out to the vaudeville theater to laugh at the maudlin displays of talent, she couldn't help but imagine where they'd be at the moment had she not wasted so much time. Leslie, Lillian-all just names now, for people that had once held her heart and chosen to throw it out into the garbage heap. When she'd first come to Toronto, she was so young and naive, unsure of what she wanted. Sometimes the shame of her behavior threatened to eat her alive, especially because she now knew what she had been missing out on.

But what was there to be said? She'd almost let George slip out on her life more than once, and she couldn't possibly let that happen again. Surely they would resolve the tension between them-it wasn't as if this was the first time the couple had quarreled-and hopefully this would happen sooner rather than later. To set things in motion, Emily knew what she had to do.

She had to see the authority on troubled relationships and problems that were to be had therein.

-0-

Julia Ogden was an early riser out of obligation. Many tasks at the hospital that required her attention were initiated in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. She had a rather large staff at her disposal, and a long list of patients to attend to that required near constant vigilance. Nevertheless, that didn't mean that she was averse to having a little fun.

That morning, her husband had entrusted her with an urgent mission, one borne out of necessity and not curiosity. It seemed that Constable Higgins had put his name into the betting pool concerning her good friend's impending delivery, and at quite a high monetary amount. With all of her medical expertise she'd collected over the years, might she be able to determine the sex of Dr. Grace's baby and let him know by the end of the day?

She was loath to admit that to her knowledge the study of obstetrics hadn't progressed that far. But there were other ways of determining a fetus's gender, ways that had been whispered about between her mother and the other women of the small town she'd grown up in, and practiced in secrecy.

It felt a little odd to use her wedding ring to carry out one of the many old traditions of the farmer's wives, but it was the only piece of jewelry she owned at least partially made of gold. Tying a piece of twine around the band, she tucked the entire assembly into her pocket for later.

Just as Julia was getting around to reviewing a series of her patients' charts, the door to her office slammed open.

She couldn't help but jump at the sudden noise. As time passed and no one could any longer plausibly deny that James Gillies was long dead and in the ground, she'd moved her desk back to its original position, facing the window outlooking the hospital's garden. It was a lovely view, but didn't quite make up for the wide array of surprises she grew to expect over the course of the day.

"Are you busy?"

Julia didn't have to turn in order to recognize the breaking alto of her friend. Holding her paperwork over her shoulder, she said, "It seems that ladies in our profession are _always_ busy, does it not?"

"I suppose," Emily acknowledged quietly, sinking into one of the plush armchairs that were scattered about the room. Clearly, she wasn't here on official constabulary business.

If the city's coroner was feeling downtrodden due to the sudden onset of maternal hormones, Julia knew that she had just the thing to cheer her up. The day before Emily's wedding back in Newfoundland, the two friends had thrown their own hen party of sorts. A bottle of malt whiskey shared between them was enough to loosen their tongues, and they'd kicked out their better halves without much explanation. That night, hiding underneath the covers like schoolgirls, they'd toyed around with a ouija board that Julia had purchased from a novelty shop.

The movements of the pointer were plainly caused by the shift of wind in the room and gravity, but the pair drunkenly caroused with the device all night, calling forward any and every deceased historical figure they could recall from their days in grammar school. Neither could remember if they successfully summoned any spirits, but the sheer amount of entertainment the friends got out of it solidified a healthy respect in both their minds for matters of the supernatural.

Then again, the ring test was less otherworldly and more coincidental. It would, after all, be correct fifty percent of the time. Rising from her chair, Julia joined her companion.

It was then she noticed that her fellow doctor was thoroughly disheveled and appeared very close to tears. Pocketing the ring and twine once more, she wrapped her arm around Emily's shoulder. "What's happened to you?"

Dr. Grace immediately burst into tears, burying her head into Julia's shoulder. Between layers of her blouse, she could be heard to gasp, "George-oh dear, the baby-good Lord, I've put my foot in it-"

The sudden surges of birthing hormones were apparently affecting her friend more than they ever had. She was fairly far along through the third trimester, so this was to be expected. But Julia, even though her preternatural powers of empathy were not the strongest, could sense that something else was wrong.

"Come on, then. Out with it," she muttered under her breath, rubbing small circles on her back. With her head tucked down towards her abdomen, she couldn't help but think that Emily resembled a hibernating animal. Julia made mental note to mention this observation when both parties were in better spirits.

Emily sputtered, inhaling air in hungry gasps. Whatever was weighing on her mind-in her words-it had to be _quite the doozy one_. Finally, she managed to say, "We went to that little French cafe you and William recommended. It really was lovely, Julia. There were fresh violets on every table, and the _maitre d'_ had the most charming accent."

"I'm glad," she assured her, "but I know that there's something else bothering you."

The other woman sighed heavily, drying her tears on her sleeve. "Heaven knows when he got the time, but George wrote out a list of possible names for the baby in extraordinary detail."

In the hall, there was the sudden noise of a tray being dropped and a patient crying out. Such noises were typical of such a large, metropolitan institution, so Julia waved her on to continue.

"William and Thomas were there, of course, but he put Edna on the list for girls. He probably meant nothing by it, just liked how it sounds or something foolish like that, but _oh_ , Julia, I was furious," Emily explained, hands shaking with emotion. "He didn't come up to bed last night, and didn't even say goodbye when he left for the station house this morning. I'm afraid I've royally mucked it up between us."

Julia sighed goodnaturedly. Sometimes, her trade as a psychologist brought its benefits to her personal life. Raising her hand out of Emily's line of view, she began to lazily spin her ring in the air. "You knew that marriage would be a challenge even before you accepted George's proposal. So, why then are you concerned that his love for you might be gone after one argument? After three years with William, I thought that we'd stop quarreling like children, but I'm afraid that isn't the case. It's just a matter of life, that you'll have disagreements. But if it is meant to last, as I can assure you it is, matters will always resolve themselves in due time. You just have to initiate the change."

The last of her sniffles gone, the younger woman nodded. "You're right, of course. I'll just have to call George down to the morgue and show him that nothing has changed between us!"

She rose with some difficulty, her pendulous abdomen nearly pushing her backwards. Emily gathered herself and squared her shoulders, looking for all the world like she would suddenly charge out of the room.

"Wait a moment!" Julia called out, catching her wedding band between her fingers. After releasing it from her grasp, it had immediately began to swing in a wide circle rather than side to side. If she remembered correctly, this might have told her exactly what she was looking for.

Emily turned back to her, somewhat impatient. Knowing that she scarcely held her attention, she settled for revealing the assembly and declaring, "It's a girl!"

-0-

Even before she entered her office at the morgue, Dr. Grace could detect the cloying scent of fresh strawberries and finely drizzled chocolate. She followed her nose, as was her wont as she navigated many of her cravings, and found a heaping plate of _éclairs_ waiting for her on a clean autopsy slab. Beside them, quite predictably, cut the dashing figure of her detective.

Emily stopped in her tracks. The two sized each other up, as if calculating where they could possibly began, and then both started to talk at once.

"Oh, George, I can't begin to tell you how much I-"

"There's no need, because the fact is-"

"No," she said loudly, shaking her head. "I've been unfair to you, and I regret it more than anything."

He moved to embrace her, and she did not resist. "Emily, please," he whispered, his tone so full of sentiment that it caused her to shiver. "I chose the name because for a time Edna had a profound effect on me. She changed who I was and how I went about it. Heavens, I was almost convicted of murder because of her. And for a time I was more than willing to take the fall, because I believed I was in love with her."

Already, she didn't like where this was going, and wrinkled her nose as a response.

"But it seemed that for every moment I was with her I was always thinking of someone else. I sought out Edna because I knew that I couldn't have you. We both danced around each other for a long time before we finally realized that we belonged together. But the truth is that of all the women I have ever come across-whether in Newfoundland or Ontario- _you_ , Dr. Emily Grace, have and always will be the love of my life."

By then, she knew she had to be shaking like an autumn leaf. Her heart's beat was so strong, so loud in her ears, that she was sure George could hear it.

If he could, he was unperturbed. "I'm a simple man, you and I both know that. Perhaps someone like Inspector Murdoch could spin a poetic yarn to tell a woman how much he loves her, but men like me can't be helped. I just have to state what is, and what always will be. I love you, Emily, and I don't see how that could ever change."

Now it was her turn to speak, but she didn't know where to begin. Finally, she managed to stammer out, "George Crabtree, you are not by any means a simple man."

His expression fell, as if he was anticipating her telling him he was something less than that. But every anxiety he may have had was washed away when his wife cried out passionately, "You're an _extraordinary_ man."

Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck, squeezing tightly. George reciprocated the gesture by holding her tightly against him, despite the hindrance her enormous belly posed. The two remained there for quite some time, simply enjoying each other's company, before separating at arm's length.

"Well, you know what they say," he slurred, his tremendous grin threatening to overtake his face, "If you can't bring your girl to the _éclairs_ …"

Something about this phrase stirred a memory in the back of her mind. It had to do with snow cones, and hot dogs from the World's Fair, and one cent bites of pizza pie. Immediately, Emily grabbed a dessert from behind him and took a bite.

They proved to be as delicious as they looked. George finally let her go and watched with satisfaction as his wife made quick work of the _éclair_. In her haste to fill the void that had been left by her lack of dinner the previous night, Emily had gotten chocolate stains all over her cheeks and her fingers. She was ravenous. She was _adorable_.

Noticing how the detective's gaze followed her every move, she cut in ruefully, "You know, Julia let me in on a curious thing about the gender of our baby…"

 **The End**


End file.
